She closed her eyes and thought of all those sermons her father had preached, week after week, as she and Juliet tried to keep Holly and Jay quiet on the front pew. The family image was crucial. They were to appear like the perfect children, taught to respect the sanctuary and the man who was speaking. Taught to fear God.
And fear him they did. Questions weren’t accepted about their burgeoning faith, until everything fell apart.
She didn’t want to think about that now. Her father’s unfaithfulness to her mother, his abrupt fall from pastor to outcast, and her family’s sudden homelessness when the church evicted them from the parsonage … had all resulted in a 180-degree turn in her thinking about faith, love, and the body of Christ.
There were times when she blamed God completely. Despite her father’s hypocrisy, hadn’t her mother served God faithfully? Hadn’t the children been behaved and obedient? Why did they deserve to live in the only place they could afford — a garage apartment offered by strangers who heard of their dilemma?
Where were the loving shoulders for her mother to cry on? Why had she been a pariah too?
Cathy shook herself out of her reverie and told herself to snap out of it. She had work to do. Her brother needed her. Her nephew needed her.
Everyone needed her.
She started the car and backed out of the garage, trying to bury her bitterness. She’d buried it when her fiancé was murdered, when his killer walked free, when Michael was the one punished. But this time, it was burying her.
It was as if God had allowed her to be crushed in the avalanche of bitterness, trapped under its weight. Yet he warned against it. How could she escape?
Under it all, she did still have a remnant of faith. “There’s a purpose for all this,” she whispered. “There must be. I know you’re not mean. I know you love us.”
That knowledge kept her going to God, even when her fists were clenched. Even when there was no human understanding for the things humans did.
Her cell phone rang as she pulled into a parking space in front of Michael’s office. She didn’t recognize the number, but she answered anyway. “Hello?”
“Cathy, this is Max. I know it’s early. Did I wake you up?”
She sighed. “No, I’m just pulling up at Michael’s. What’s up?”
“I wanted you to know there were no other prints on that note that was put on your car. Just yours.”
She sighed. “Great. Is there anything else you can learn from it?”
“Not really.”
“Well, you’ll keep it as evidence, won’t you?”
“We will, but I’m not sure it’s relevant. Gotta go. Just wanted you to know.”
Feeling defeated, she went into the small building that had once been a gas station and convenience store. The front room, which was supposed to look like a small waiting room, had a pea-green sofa Michael had picked up at the Goodwill store. His living area was the old storeroom at the back of the building. At least he had a bathroom and shower there.
“In here, Cathy!”
She stepped toward his office door, a walled-off half of the front area. Michael sat at his desk, still wearing what he’d had on the last time she’d seen him.
“Hey,” she said, dropping her bag on an easy chair in the corner. “Didn’t you go to bed last night?”
“No,” he said. “I’ve been up, trying to figure this out.”
She glanced at the dry erase board, where he’d made copious notes about the case, as he would have if he’d been the detective assigned to it.
She sank into the easy chair, pulled her feet beneath her. “Something you can add to the list. No prints on the note left on my car.”
“Didn’t think there would be.” He got up and wrote “Note on car — no fingerprints” in the evidence column. “But it was handwritten, so that could help us later. When we figure out who it is, we can compare handwriting samples.”
Cathy stared at the list of all the evidence he had so far. The emails, the gun, the clown, the truck, the timeline … She was tired and her head hurt, but she couldn’t let it slow her down.
“Let’s make a column for the cases you’ve been writing about,” he said.
She got her laptop out of her bag, opened it. She pulled up her site and scanned through it. “There are so many.”
“We can rule out the ones who are in prison now. And since Jay seems sure the clown was a man, we can rule out the women.”
She scanned through the list of male defendants. “Okay, Brooks Lewis is free. He was acquitted, but I always thought he was innocent and said so on my blog. Clive Taylor only got a year in prison, and he’s out by now. I did say some pretty stinging things about him, because I thought he was as guilty as sin.”
Michael scribbled “Clive Taylor” on the board. “Who else?”
As she went through the list of possible men who might have a grudge against her, Michael sat down next to her. She scrolled through her blogs she’d written in the last year, rereading some of what she’d said about the men suspected of horrendous things — murder, rape, child abuse. She’d told it the way she saw it, and that didn’t always make her friends.
“I don’t usually think about how I’m making the suspect feel,” she said. “But looking at this now, I’m surprised I wasn’t the one who was murdered.”
“Good point,” Michael said. “Why doesn’t this guy want you dead? Why would he be satisfied to kill your sister-in-law? If Annalee’s killer is the same guy who threatened you, it doesn’t make sense.”
She shook her head. “It’s got to be more than that. I mean, I could see him setting me up for a crime. Making me look like a person of interest. Showing me how it feels to have people speculating and judging. But to kill Annalee, who has so little to do with me, only so he could set up my brother in hopes of hurting me … I agree with you. It’s a stretch to connect those dots.”
“He did mention Leonard Miller.” That name was already written at the top of the board, in a different color ink. Cathy figured it had been there for the last two years.
She winced at the reminder of the man who’d murdered Joe. “Would Miller do this, knowing we’d love nothing more than to nail him for another crime?”
“I know it’s unlikely,” he said. “But sociopaths can’t be accused of logic.”
“But what would he have against me? And how would he even know about Jay’s divorce problems? Besides, there’s no evidence that he’s in town. His face was all over the news here, and the town hates him. I don’t think he’d come back.”
“I wish he would,” Michael muttered. “I’d just love to find him.”
“Well, let’s not let him get us off track,” Cathy said.
“The note warned me something would happen. I can’t help but think the two situations are connected.”
“But it could just be a coincidence.”
She breathed a laugh. “Thought you didn’t believe in coincidences.”
He rubbed his tired eyes. “Well, I don’t think things happen out of the blue. Everything has a purpose. But as a detective, I think when there’s this much reach to connect two things, maybe we’re on the wrong track. Maybe this person had it in for Annalee and just set up Jay to keep the heat off himself. Maybe it has nothing at all to do with you.”
Cathy didn’t know whether to be relieved at that prospect, or disappointed that one of their leads led nowhere. “It was another clue. And we don’t have all that many.”
Michael got up and went back to the board. “I’m still waiting to hear if security video caught the person putting the note on your car, if any of the security cameras on the main roads from Annalee’s house might have caught a white truck, and where this clown suit might have come from. But I can’t guarantee Max and Al have pulled those tapes.”
He went to his desk and pulled out Jay’s crude drawing of the clown. “I’ve been googling clown suits, looking for one that looks like this.”
“You’ll probably fin
d dozens of stores that carry that style.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. It’s not just the costume. It’s the wig, the makeup, the shoes. If I can find the store that sold any of that to our zip code in the last few weeks …”
She sighed. “Michael, how do you have time to do all this? You have to make a living.”
He shrugged. “It’s what I do best. It’s better than spying on Medicare frauds and cheating husbands.”
“We could pay you.”
He looked insulted. “I don’t want money. I just want to help you out and get your brother off. And I have to admit … if Leonard Miller’s involved, then I’m all over this.”
She swallowed and met his eyes. Sorrow connected them for a moment too long. He looked away. “So where do we go from here?” she asked.
“Keep looking through the blogs and figuring out who may have had the potential to do this. It feels like a rabbit trail, but there might be something there. I’ll keep pressuring Max to find any videos, even if he won’t let us see them. And I’ll keep working on finding the costume.”
She closed her laptop and got up. “I’ll let you know when I get the list of what they confiscated from their search of Jay’s apartment.” She started out, hesitating at the door. “Jay told Jackson about Annalee this morning. Juliet said it was really heartbreaking.” Her voice broke, and she blinked back tears. “Jackson needs to be back in his own home, but with the investigation, it’s impossible for them to get back in there. The divorce wasn’t final, so the house is still Jay’s. But with him as a person of interest and the house sealed …”
“We’ll have to help them rule him out as soon as possible.”
Tears seeped through her lashes. “Yeah.”
“And in the meantime, I want you to hire a bodyguard for yourself.”
“I’m not doing that, Michael.”
“Cathy, if this is connected to you, this guy’s dangerous. He could hurt you.”
“I’ll be careful. I’m carrying my gun in the car. I’ll be all right.”
He rubbed his forehead. “Will you at least promise me that before you go anywhere predictable, you’ll call me so I can go with you?”
“Michael …”
“Cathy, promise me.”
She sighed. “All right. I will. This whole thing is just … surreal. Like I’m living through a foggy nightmare.” She got her bag, slid the strap on her shoulder, and dropped her laptop in.
“Cathy?”
She looked up at him and pulled the bag to her chest, holding it like a shield.
“Are you all right?”
She forced a smile. “Yes, I’m fine.”
As more tears pushed to her eyes, she turned and left his office. She got into her car, grabbed one of the wadded tissues on the passenger seat, and dabbed at her eyes.
This was almost as bad as she’d felt two years ago, when she learned Joe had been killed on a drug bust. Almost as bad.
Michael was one of the few who understood, because it was his grief too.
As she drove out of the parking space, she glanced back at his office. Michael stood at the window, watching her drive away.
CHAPTER 18
The police came to Juliet’s at noon that day, pushing through the local media that had set up shop on the sidewalk. Juliet saw them coming and ordered Zach to take Jackson upstairs to watch a movie.
As the police knocked hard on her beveled glass door, Juliet pulled Jay into a desperate hug. “It’s going to be okay, Jay. If they arrest you, it’s just temporary. I’ll get everybody praying, and we’ll work day and night to solve this crime and get you out.”
Jay seemed to brace himself. “Just take care of Jackson. I want him to stay with you. Keep him busy and away from the news.”
The knock came again, louder, more urgently, followed by the doorbell ringing.
They couldn’t wait any longer. She put her hand on the doorknob and looked back at him. “Ready?”
He nodded and she opened the door. Two uniformed officers stood there, and behind them, out by the street, cameras rolled. “Mr. Jay Cramer?” one of the officers asked.
“Yes.” His voice was flat, resigned. “Come in.”
They stepped in, and Juliet closed the door, blocking out the onlookers.
“Mr. Cramer, we have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Annalee Cramer.”
He nodded. “Okay. If we could just talk quietly so my son won’t hear …”
“Daddy!”
Juliet’s stomach flipped as Jackson ran up the hall.
“Daddy, come watch How to Train Your Dragon with me.”
Jay looked as though he might pass out. He turned from the police and squatted down, getting eye level with Jackson. “Son, I can’t come right now. I have to go help these policemen.”
Jackson stared up at them. “Is it about Mommy?”
Jay worked his mouth to keep the emotion from showing. “Yes, it’s about Mommy,” he said. “I need for you to stay with Aunt Juliet and be a good boy, okay?”
Jackson looked uncomfortably up at the cops, then turned back to his dad. “When will you be back?”
Jay frowned. “I’m not sure right now. But you’re gonna have some more sleepovers with Aunt Juliet. And I’ll call you and let you know, okay?”
Jackson didn’t answer. How much more could he take? Jay got back to his feet and turned to the police. He lowered his voice. “For him … could we just not do the cuffs?”
The younger cop looked down at Jackson and gave him that small mercy. “Yeah, okay.”
Jay forced a smile. “‘Bye, buddy. Maybe Aunt Juliet will watch that movie with you.”
“Of course I will,” Juliet said, tears welling. “You go help them. We’ll be just fine, won’t we, Jackson?”
Jackson nodded as Jay gave him a kiss and hurried out the front door with the cops.
The reporters’ cameras were flashing and rolling, and they yelled questions at Jay as soon as they saw him.
Juliet quickly closed the door.
“Who are those people out there?” Jackson asked.
“They’re people who want to talk to Daddy about your mom my.”
“Oh.” Jackson seemed to consider that. Juliet hoped he wouldn’t consider it too long.
“Come on, sweetie,” she said, forcing enthusiasm into her tone. “Let’s go watch Dragon.”
CHAPTER 19
Cathy stopped her car at her mailbox before pulling into her driveway and pulled out the mail. She hadn’t checked it at all yesterday, so a stack of it awaited her.
She quickly flipped through it. Bills, bills, junk mail, and some handwritten envelopes that looked like fan mail. She glanced at the return address of each one.
Seattle … Tulsa … and one that said only, “Your New Friend.”
Her throat closed and her heart began racing. Fingerprints, she thought. She shouldn’t touch it. She set the stack of mail on the passenger seat and drove up the driveway. She ran into the house and got some latex gloves from under her kitchen sink. Then she went back to the car and carefully opened the envelope.
Suddenly her phone rang. She jumped as if she’d been caught at something. The caller ID said Juliet.
She clicked the phone on and held it between her shoulder and ear. “Hey.”
“Cathy, they arrested him!” Juliet’s voice was muffled, low, as if she didn’t want to be overheard.
Cathy grabbed the phone. “Oh no. When?”
“Just now. I can’t talk. I have to distract Jackson.”
“Did Jackson see it?”
“Yes, but Jay told him he was going to help the police. They didn’t use handcuffs.”
Cathy closed her eyes. “All right. I’m headed to the police station.”
Before she started the car, she pulled the note out of the envelope.
It was handwritten.
Dear Curious Cat,
So sorry about your brother. I hope the country doesn’t try and convict him before
he’s had the chance to defend himself. That would be a tragedy.
Are you going to blog about him? Are you going to tell them his side of the story? Oh, I hope you do.
Isn’t this fun?
Your New Friend
Cathy’s heart jolted. Her hands trembled as she checked the postmark. It had been mailed yesterday from Panama City’s zip code.
So he was local.
She racked her brain for what to do. Yes, she’d give the note to the police, but she needed to keep a copy of it. She took a picture with her iPhone, checked it to make sure it could be clearly seen.
Then she emailed it to Michael with the subject line, “Another Message.”
Her head was throbbing, and her mind raced with courses of action.
This person had murdered her sister-in-law. He had left her nephew motherless. He was trying to ruin her brother. He was toying with her as if this were a game.
Rage blasted through her. She got her .38 out of the console in her car, held it as she went into her house. The place seemed clear, but she didn’t let her guard down.
Biting her lip, she went to her computer and pulled up her blog. She clicked on New Post and started typing.
To the bottom-dwelling psychopath who murdered my sister-in-law: I will find you. You think you’re clever, but you’ll make mistakes. You already have. We know things about you that you didn’t know you revealed. It’s just a matter of time.
Get ready. The ride’s about to get bumpier.
Curious Cat
She hit Send and waited as the letter showed up as a new blog post. Then slamming her chair back against her credenza, she checked the chambers of her revolver to make sure it was loaded. Grabbing her keys, she went back to her car.
Now she could go to the police station and take care of her brother.
He laughed as he read her blog. His plan was working. He was smarter than anyone gave him credit for, and soon they would give him the respect he deserved.
But it did bug him that she claimed to know things he hadn’t anticipated. What could she know? He’d disposed of the clown suit. It was a pile of ashes in the incinerator. There was nothing to connect the murder to him.